


Midnight at the Oasis

by Shayheyred



Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-13
Updated: 2011-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-19 08:45:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shayheyred/pseuds/Shayheyred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon + lust = hijinks in the desert</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight at the Oasis

**Author's Note:**

> A short "MUNCLE" Community challenge-fic incorporating a list of 20 words (bolded)

Napoleon **ran**.

A sharp twinge nearly brough him to his knees, but he staggered upright. He tried to ignore the throbbing in his **injured** shoulder – it was just a flesh wound, after all, and he'd come by it in a particularly ignominious fashion. As Illya had predicted, Napoleon's rampant **lust** had indeed gotten him into trouble with the Emir, who hadn't appreciated Napoleon making advances on Wife #11…or was she #12? It was almost **funny**. You wouldn't think a guy married to so many women would **trouble** himself over a wife so far down the list.

He caught a **breath** , fighting off a sudden stitch in his side. That Emir was pretty ungrateful – after all, UNCLE had just intervened to **separate** his country from THRUSH's grasp. At the very least he might've offered Napoleon and Illya a couple of wives for a couple of hours – now _that_ would've been gratitude!

Not that Illya would've agreed. That boy was decidedly a stick in the mud when it came to carnal entertainments.

Though it was night, the sand was still warm under Napoleon's bare feet. Lucky for international relations he hadn't been wearing his **gun** when the Emir's men burst into the bedchamber; unluckily for Napoleon, he hadn't been wearing anything at all. Thus he found himself in his current state, running through the desert with a stab wound in the arm, stark naked but for his pinky ring. _**Trust** a woman to get me in trouble,_ he thought darkly. _Illya's right – **girls** are **dangerous**._

Maybe it served him right, for **submitting** to his desires virtually under the **eyes** of the Emir. **Sneaking** around like a, a – well, like a spy – just to get laid. Not like there was a specific **code** of ethics he'd violated; a spy did what a spy did, with very little moral debate about it. Though he supposed he'd have to admit it was in rather bad taste, as well as dangerous.

Speaking of dangerous…where was that **partner** of his? Illya should've been waiting for him outside the gates, but in the **dark** he hadn't seen anything short of the occasional camel. As good as Illya's **disguises** were, he'd yet to attempt passing himself off as a dromedary.

Dammit. The sand was warm, but the air was getting decidedly cool, and Napoleon shivered. Naked in the desert was not a good plan, day or night. For one thing, there were scorpions, for another, there were–

Sand crunched to his left and Napoleon slid to a stop, his hand automatically reaching for…

"Napoleon." Illya detached himself from the shadows. "Well. What's all this?" Against the bronze makeup caking his face his teeth glimmered whitely as his mouth stretched into a **smile**. "I'm certain there's a reason you are…ah, _au naturel…?_ I can hardly wait to hear your explanation."

"Illya," Napoleon gritted his teeth. "If you tell Waverly about this–"

"Would I do that?" Illya said in feigned indignation. "The very idea! But one thing I must know…when I approached, what were you planning to do? It almost seemed as if you were reaching for a gun. But you seem to have lost it somewhere, haven't you?"

"Why, Illya," Napoleon said **smoothly** , "you're mistaken. I lost my _weapon_ …" He reached down with his uninjured hand. "… _this_ is my _gun_."

* * *


End file.
